lauralyrics (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} lauralyrics) wrote,@ 2008-01-27 23:03:00 |
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Apparently I can only read lj at obscenely late hours, when I'm half asleep and no one else is up. Must remedy that.
On an unrelated note, have I mentioned that I'm out in the boonies? I'm out in the boonies! This means, among other things, that I don't watch horror films, I (ugh, just put my finger on a ladybug while typing--honest to goodness, the wretched things are everywhere) have a superstitious fear of being alone at night with the lights on (you can't see them, but they can see you), and I have the deuce of a time getting home when it snows.
The other day, my dad casually mentioned that he saw a bear.
"You saw a bear on your way to work? Where?" I asked, wide-eyed.
"Oh, just down the road," he said from behind his newspaper.
"How big was it?" I asked.
"About bear-sized," he said.
"Oh," I said, and mentally canceled any prior plans I had of venturing out on a walk in spring with a peanut-butter-and-honey sandwich.
Scene two: did you know that a fisher got to a turkey farm nearby and, in the space of an hour, killed 68 turkeys? A fisher, according to my father, is sort of like a badger, and really bad-tempered. It won't go after a person (he said doubtfully), but it would take down a dog, no problem. (Super.)
Scene three: here's Laura, preparing to take the dog outside at night so Maggie can do what dogs do. I turned on the outside light, and then stuck my head outside to see if it was actually on: it was, but I would have gotten more light by carrying a candle out with me. I slip a leash on Maggie, step into some shoes, and we both go out into a dim semi-circle of light. The instant the door closes, Maggie freezes and stares intently into the forest. I freeze and stare intently too, but I can't see a thing--no glowing green eyes, no rustling in the undergrowth, nothing--but suddenly Maggie WOOFS!! I shriek (it must be a bear or a fisher or a rabid deer or maybe that guy from Fargo), and we both dash for the door and slam it shut behind us. Maggie sits as close to me as she can, practically on my foot, and we both shiver for a while. "Well," I said to her, after we've calmed down somewhat, "what now? You can't piddle into a can--we've got to go back out there!" And so, after peering cautiously outside (there's still nothing out there) we go back out, and Maggie happily trots around as though she never scared the bejeezus out of us and after some agonizing indecision (on her part) and anxious tugging on the leash ("Here? Here's a good spot. Do it here. Hurry up!") we finally accomplish what we set out to do, and I can go back inside and try to get my heart rate back down. Silly dog.
On an unrelated note, have I mentioned that I'm out in the boonies? I'm out in the boonies! This means, among other things, that I don't watch horror films, I (ugh, just put my finger on a ladybug while typing--honest to goodness, the wretched things are everywhere) have a superstitious fear of being alone at night with the lights on (you can't see them, but they can see you), and I have the deuce of a time getting home when it snows.
The other day, my dad casually mentioned that he saw a bear.
"You saw a bear on your way to work? Where?" I asked, wide-eyed.
"Oh, just down the road," he said from behind his newspaper.
"How big was it?" I asked.
"About bear-sized," he said.
"Oh," I said, and mentally canceled any prior plans I had of venturing out on a walk in spring with a peanut-butter-and-honey sandwich.
Scene two: did you know that a fisher got to a turkey farm nearby and, in the space of an hour, killed 68 turkeys? A fisher, according to my father, is sort of like a badger, and really bad-tempered. It won't go after a person (he said doubtfully), but it would take down a dog, no problem. (Super.)
Scene three: here's Laura, preparing to take the dog outside at night so Maggie can do what dogs do. I turned on the outside light, and then stuck my head outside to see if it was actually on: it was, but I would have gotten more light by carrying a candle out with me. I slip a leash on Maggie, step into some shoes, and we both go out into a dim semi-circle of light. The instant the door closes, Maggie freezes and stares intently into the forest. I freeze and stare intently too, but I can't see a thing--no glowing green eyes, no rustling in the undergrowth, nothing--but suddenly Maggie WOOFS!! I shriek (it must be a bear or a fisher or a rabid deer or maybe that guy from Fargo), and we both dash for the door and slam it shut behind us. Maggie sits as close to me as she can, practically on my foot, and we both shiver for a while. "Well," I said to her, after we've calmed down somewhat, "what now? You can't piddle into a can--we've got to go back out there!" And so, after peering cautiously outside (there's still nothing out there) we go back out, and Maggie happily trots around as though she never scared the bejeezus out of us and after some agonizing indecision (on her part) and anxious tugging on the leash ("Here? Here's a good spot. Do it here. Hurry up!") we finally accomplish what we set out to do, and I can go back inside and try to get my heart rate back down. Silly dog.
